Christmas at Snowflake Lodge

by CP Ward

  A massive cascade of fluffy snow rained down, coating them, and burying them up to the knees. Kirsten squealed with excitement. Jessica wiped snow off her face and turned to see Mr. Dawes, now wearing a Christmas hat, bellowing with laughter. Nearby, the teenager from the rental shop picked up a soccer ball sitting on top of the snow and exclaimed, ‘I wondered where that went.’

  ‘I can see why they call it Snowflake Lodge,’ Kirsten said, gasping. ‘I mean, there’s a lot of snow, isn’t there? Oh, hail Saint Nick and his eight mighty steeds!’

  Jessica cringed, but before Kirsten’s social goofing could embarrass her, a sharp crackle came out of the whiteness, and then Barry’s amplified voice said, ‘Stop mucking about, you lot. Get the car park and the drive clear. We have two buses from Silver Tours coming in this evening and I don’t want them having to push wheelchairs up from the main road.’

  Low moans of ‘Scrooge, Scrooge,’ the O’s drawn out like a rugby chant, came from all around them. As Jessica followed the other revelers back to where they had left their shovels, she couldn’t help but smile.

  18

  An old jacket

  Silver Tours turned out to be a misnomer; its attendees leaning on the grey to balding side, as Jessica joined the rest of the staff to help a procession of elderly in wheelchairs or with walkers up the snow-laden disabled access path to the side of the main steps. Barry seemed terrified by the prospect of so many geriatric guests, but from the Christmas hats and the wide, delighted grins of the new arrivals, they shared none of his misgivings.

  While they had been out in the snow, a huge cardboard cutout of Grandpa had appeared in the lobby, advertising his lodge debut on Saturday at seven o’clock. A huge line of chairs quickly formed for each of the geriatrics to get a photograph next to an image of their hero. Jessica, helping out, wondered why the old man himself couldn’t make an appearance, but when she put the question to Mildred at reception, she was told that it was part of the mystery.

  ‘Oh, and he’s gone hiking.’

  ‘What? It’s four o’clock in the afternoon. It’s dark outside!’

  ‘You haven’t seen the illumination trail, have you? It goes all the way up to this year’s Yule tree.’

  Jessica shook her head. ‘No, I’m afraid I haven’t.’

  ‘The ceremonial cutting will take place on Sunday, but until then it’s all lit up and decorated.’ Mildred sighed. ‘Very romantic. It’s also a little steep, but if you wear proper shoes you’ll be all right.’

  ‘And Grandpa—I mean, Mr. Lemond—has gone up there? You do know he’s ninety-two? He can barely walk without assistance.’

  ‘Oh, he has assistance. We never let anyone go up there alone after dark without a staff member or a guide. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. He bounces around like he’s eighty, doesn’t he?’

  Jessica grimaced. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’

  With nothing else going on except a loud discordant karaoke session in the dining room, Jessica made up her mind. She went off to find Kirsten, but the girl was not in their room. Eventually she located her in the rental shop, talking to the teenaged student.

  ‘Kirsten, do you fancy a walk in the snow?’ Jessica said, before realising from the student’s body language that they had been about to engage in some sort of tryst. Backtracking, she said, ‘Um, it’s okay, I’ll go on my own.’

  Kirsten turned around, her cheeks flushed. The student had one arm on a rack of snowboarding jackets, his hand tantalizingly close to Kirsten’s shoulder. Jessica felt like a total party pooper, but the student shrugged and told Kirsten he ought to get back to work.

  ‘Sure,’ Kirsten said, sounding crestfallen as she turned to Jessica. ‘If you like.’

  They pulled on jackets and boots they had left to dry by the side entrance, then set out. After they had gone a little way, Jessica said, ‘Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

  Kirsten shook her head. ‘We were just chatting,’ she said. ‘His name is Ben. He goes to Edinburgh University, but they just broke up for the winter. He’s into Haruki Murakami.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘He’s a Japanese magical realism novelist,’ Kirsten said. ‘Kafka on the Shore?’

  Jessica grimaced. ‘I’m afraid I rarely get further than Pipes and Spanners Monthly.’

  Kirsten whooped an embarrassingly loud laugh. A little upslope, a tree shuddered, releasing its load of snow. ‘I imagine that’s exciting in its own way.’

  ‘Not so much. Anyway, sorry for interrupting.’

  ‘You’re the boss,’ Kirsten said, making Jessica wince. While Kirsten meant it as a joke, it reminded Jessica of their status. She wished they could relax and be friends, but perhaps she had only invited Kirsten because she didn’t have any real friends, something of which Doreen had taken pride in reminding her. Hey, Lonely Lemons, we’re going to the football game. You can come if you want. I mean, what else are you going to do? Talk to your hands? Chatty, are they?

  ‘I have friends,’ she muttered out loud.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  Jessica shook her head. ‘Nothing. Come on, let’s find this tree. It’s freezing out here, isn’t it?’

  ‘But it’s lovely at the same time. I keep expecting to see the Polar Express come rushing through.’ Kirsten reached a hand up into the air and pretended to pull a bell. ‘Choo choo!’

  As Jessica cringed, glancing back down the path to see if anyone had heard, Kirsten pointed at two lines in the snow. They really did look like tracks of some sort. Not a train, though. The rails of a sleigh.

  ‘Do you think that’s Old Saint Nick out checking on us?’ Kirsten said.

  Jessica wanted to shake her head and tell Kirsten to stop being so Victorian, but on a certain level it was entertaining. ‘You never know,’ she said. ‘Although it doesn’t look like there were any reindeer. Those are boot prints. A person was pulling this.’

  They headed on along the forest path which led around the side of the mountain, gradually angling up. Towering pine trees loomed all around them, but the path, lain with straw to stop them slipping, was illuminated by lines of fairy lights and regular lamps with little flames that may or may not have been real flickering inside their Narnian heads. Jessica leaned close to one, trying to see if it was real or fake, but from the warmth it was giving off, she surmised that it was real.

  ‘They have a gas lighter,’ Kirsten said. ‘Mr. Dawes. He comes out at twilight every night and lights up all the lamps on the trails you’re allowed to use. He said I could go with him one time. He said there’s a trail that leads to a viewing spot right at the top of the mountain. He said on the Winter Solstice you can sometimes see the Northern Lights.’

  Jessica smiled. ‘This is Scotland, not Alaska.’

  ‘But don’t you feel the magic in the air?’

  Jessica opened her mouth to let out a snarky reply, then closed it. Perhaps she ought to follow Kirsten’s lead and allow herself to relax a little.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m trying. It’s just that I’m worried about Grandpa, not to mention my flat, currently in the grip of a lodger from Hell.’

  ‘That sounds troublesome.’

  Jessica nodded. ‘Yeah. It’s a worry, that’s for sure. Oh, is that it?’

  She stopped. Just out of sight around the next bend, something was glittering through the trees. It towered above the surrounding forest, and as they came around the bend, both gasped with awe. Standing in a clearing was a huge, magnificent pine tree, brightly lit by strings of colourful fairy lights, decorated with bright red apples hanging on sliver strings. A huge star made out of wood, fir branches and holly berries was perched on its top. It was so big that it made the Christmas tree in the car park look like one from someone’s living room.

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘Yeah. Look at that.’

  ‘Such a shame they have to cut it down, isn’t it?’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s got an infection,’ came a voice from a
bench nearby that they had been too transfixed with the tree to notice. Grandpa, sitting beside Charity from housekeeping, gave them a wave. His boots were covered in snow, and nearby stood a sleigh. Jessica baulked at the thought of her ninety-two-year-old grandfather dragging a sleigh up through the forest. Charity was plump rather than overweight, but her grandfather was stick thin, not even considering his advanced age. Jessica gave a stunned shake of her head. Perhaps she ought to start believing in Kirsten’s magic.

  ‘Scandinavian red pine beetle?’ Kirsten said, nodding sagely, as Jessica snapped her head around. ‘A shame. It’s been ravaging through the fjords. Good to root it out before it spreads.’

  ‘The very same,’ Grandpa said. ‘But don’t tell anyone. The tree’ll burn just the same.’

  Jessica couldn’t help but smile as Kirsten started off on a long, complicated exposition about the beetle’s life cycle and mating habits. Since Kirsten was talking mostly to Grandpa, Jessica didn’t feel rude as she left them to it and started up the sloping clearing, making a circle of the Yule Tree. It was easy to forget her troubles if she concentrated on the tree’s brilliance. Staring up at the glittering lights while the chill air bit at her face, perhaps she was finally starting to feel Christmasy—

  In her pocket, her phone vibrated. Jessica had forgotten she even had it with her, but guessed they must be far enough upslope to pick up a signal. Glancing back, she saw Grandpa, Charity and Kirsten pointing up at the tree, deep in conversation, so she unzipped her jacket, reached inside, and pulled out her phone.

  To her surprise, there were two messages. The first was from her father. The first line was simply, Getting on all right? Jessica frowned. It was her father’s familiar general greeting, which meant he had no idea where she was or what she was doing. It didn’t matter; Jessica was used to it. She opened the rest of the message to read her parents’ invariably more exciting news.

  Departed this morning from Dover. The seas are a little choppy but it’s all good. Your mother thought she saw a dolphin, but it turned out to be a piece of floating tarpaulin. I told her you won’t see anything interesting in the North Sea! We’ve already turned up the coast towards Norway. Should start getting some good pics of the fjords in a few days. Will send you the best. See you in the New Year. And Merry Christmas!’

  Jessica frowned. The last line felt tacked on like an afterthought. Typical of her father. No mention of her nor even of Grandpa now that her parents were occupied with their latest quest. Never mind. It was normal.

  With some trepidation, she scrolled to the second message.

  Doreen again. Jessica, who had been praying it might be something as innocent as spam or a Christmas greeting from one of her clients, sighed.

  I’ve had to call health and safety. Mick got stuck in the bath tonight. I’ve checked the contract and since you agreed to his stay he’s technically a tenant. Don’t you know he’s on disability? You should have had safety bars installed. I’m afraid you’re looking at a hefty fine, and really, it’s all that you deserve. This place is a disgrace. Oh, and by the way, just in case something important showed up that you might want forwarded, I’ve been opening your mail. Nothing much of interest, just a few bills and a couple of bank statements. Although you did get something from a Snowflake Lodge. Is that where you are now? It looked pretty interesting, so Mick, Phil and I figured—

  ‘Hey, Jessica.’

  How many times would she need to ask before the ground finally swallowed her up when she needed it? Jessica, with the phone’s screen inches from her face, swung around just as James Wilcox stepped out of the forest. He was wearing a woolen hat, and a thick mountaineering coatthat didn’t seem quite right, as though the knitting machine had been off line. His cheeks were flushed as though he had been exercising, and she suddenly realised how Grandpa and Charity had made it to the clearing. From the size of James’s shoulders, pulling the couple in the sleigh had probably been no harder than walking a dog.

  ‘Oh, hello.’ She hurried to put her phone back in her pocket, but it slipped out of her gloves and fell in the snow. She scrambled to pick it up, wiping snow off the screen.

  ‘What are you doing out here?’ His welcoming smile dropped. ‘Ah, okay, I get it. Just up here because you can get a signal.’

  Jessica felt her cheeks flush, but more than that, she was sick of being judged. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘I don’t know what your problem is with phones, but not everyone lives in the back end of nowhere, wearing sheep skins and dead minks—’

  ‘It’s from Marks and Spencer,’ James said, touching his hat.

  ‘I don’t care. I’m sick of you looking at me like I’m some kind of phone addict. Do you have any idea what I’m dealing with—’

  She took a step forward, but at that exact moment her left boot decided to betray her. She slipped on an icy patch of ground and toppled forward. The only thing she could do to stop herself crashing face down at James’s feet was reach out for his coat. Her fingers closed over the edges of his front pocket as her left leg swung out behind her. For a few seconds they looked like a pair of amateur figure skaters practicing a routine, then James’s pocket ripped and Jessica crashed down on to the snow.

  ‘Are you all right? You have to be careful out here. The fresh snow tends to cover the icy patches underneath.’

  Jessica’s cheeks were burning. ‘I guessed that.’ She was still holding onto James’s pocket, which had ripped off the front of his jacket. As her ears rang with embarrassment and shame, she handed it back. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.’

  ‘It was an accident. It’s fine,’ he said, although his face showed something different.

  Sorrow.

  Despite her guilt, Jessica couldn’t help but search for something to fill the awkward space. ‘Perhaps it was time for a new one anyway,’ she said, hoping James would smile. ‘Have you written a letter to Father Christmas yet?’

  James stared at the piece of material in his hand. ‘My wife made this for me,’ he said, giving a wistful smile. ‘She never was the best with sewing, but she always tried.’

  Jessica’s heart lurched. ‘Your wife … she’s … um, not here anymore?’

  James didn’t look up. Downslope, Grandpa was shouting that it was time to leave, that the evening’s hot chocolate extravaganza and magic show would be starting soon, that they needed to get a decent table.

  ‘James?’

  Still he didn’t look up. ‘She made this jacket for me on our third Christmas,’ he said. ‘Our last one together before she died.’

  19

  The Bet

  The magic show was fantastic, with hot chocolate and marshmallows appearing and disappearing all over the place, but Jessica felt in a terrible slump all the way through. Kirsten, sitting beside her, with Ben from the rental shop on the other side, clapped and laughed at everything as though she didn’t have a care in the world. Jessica couldn’t help but feel a little jealous.

  After returning to the lodge on foot alongside Kirsten, while James pulled the sleigh carrying Grandpa and Charity from housekeeping, which included one exciting section where he climbed onto the front to steer as it slid down the steepest section of path, Jessica had been called off to attend to an urgent blocked toilet, and by the time she had returned, James was nowhere to be seen. Having avoided his eyes all the way back to the lodge, she had since gone over a hundred apologies but was yet to decide on the best one.

  His wife had died. Whether she thought he was a little obnoxious or not, was beside the point. His heart had been broken, and she—unwittingly, but she couldn’t absolve herself of all blame—had damaged a precious memory. If it wasn’t that from the sound of things she had no home to go back to, she would have been tempted to jump straight onto the Tomahawk and head off down south.

  After the magic show was over, the Silver Tours crew crowded their wheelchairs around the stage for what appeared to be a nightly karaoke session. As the first scratchy croons of Bing Crosby’s White
Christmas tore their way like an angry Krampus out of the speakers, Jessica headed for her room.

  Kirsten had again been snacking, leaving her wrappers on the table in their kitchen unit. Jessica made herself a cup-a-soup out of a complimentary packet and used the microwave to heat a bread roll she had kept from breakfast. She didn’t need to check the scales to know she was losing weight: her tummy felt tight and her jeans were hanging off her hips. It was Christmas; losing weight was unacceptable, and if she wasn’t careful she’d be playing catch-up. She could only put it down to stress.

  Feeling James’s condescending gaze on her, she nevertheless opened up her phone messages to read the rest of Doreen’s latest torment, only to find that the message had been clipped and she couldn’t access the rest without heading once more to higher ground. What had Doreen opened from Snowflake Lodge? Jessica’s pay slip? Her fingernails raked the tabletop with frustration, but there was nothing she could do from here. Enough was enough, though. In the morning, if she could find a working phone, she would call the letting agent and start proceedings to get Doreen out. It might take a demolition crew to do it, but if that was what it took….

  Feeling the urge for company, she headed upstairs to the lobby. Left past reception, past a souvenir shop selling local food produce and locally made gifts, was a TV room. Surrounded by comfortable armchairs and with complimentary sherry, hot chocolate, and mince pies on offer every night, a large cinema screen showed nightly Christmas movies. Today, much to Jessica’s amusement, it was showing Die Hard. As Jessica settled into a seat near the back, she wondered if it was possible to hire John McClane to take out Doreen, or whether that was one mission too far.

  The movie had only been on for a few minutes, when an old lady in a wheelchair rolled up next to Jessica’s seat.

  ‘Excuse me, dear, do you mind if I perch up here?’